


Studium In Gannon

by Droog



Series: 'Cause I'm A Wanderer [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alcoholism, Amnesia, Brain Damage, Denial of Feelings, Drug Addiction, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:09:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26377825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Droog/pseuds/Droog
Summary: His life had become dull and near tragically pointless. Then, like a beautiful whirlwind of testosterone-fueled idiocy, some bleeding wild man swept him off his feet and directly onto his ass. Honestly, he could've wrote a poem about it:"Mentats are red,Star caps are blue,Now so is my backsideSo can I help you?"
Relationships: Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Series: 'Cause I'm A Wanderer [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916983
Kudos: 22





	1. Knock'em Dead

**Author's Note:**

> The best way to get past a wall? Just smash it.

He always thought his little quip was cute, that silly mantra about a guy coming to scoop him off his feet. It was a ridiculous little fantasy he had from time to time... Some big strong man comes to whisk him away to a life of excitement, listens to him babble on about politics that no longer exist and medicinal breakthroughs he has continued failing to make, and if he's lucky that same man would also happen to be well-versed in the ways of male companionship. After all, no amount of playing flirty doctor with the occasional cute mercenary or gambler would make him any better at letting anyone get to know him. He knew it was unrealistic. It was impossible to get close to anyone if you lived behind a fortress of walls. Literally and metaphorically.

Instead of all that, of course, what was surely a flying boulder catapulted into his castle of solitude slammed into him so hard that the air rushed out of his lungs before he hit the ground.

" _Shit_ , my bad!" a smokey, distinctive voice called down to him. "Guess I need to check my breaks, heh. Anyways, I sprung a leak or two and I could use some help, doc. Let's get ya back on your feet! Take my hand, I promise it won't pop off."

Arcade blinked a few times once he sucked in enough oxygen to recollect himself. _Pop off...?_ Oh. He didn't intend to stare at the hand offered to him, but the strained vocal chords and decaying patterns on his skin indicated that 'ghoulification' was his affliction. In truth it didn't bother him much. Fiends tended to look worse off than friendly ghouls in recent times, and he'd already become numb to the body horror long ago. He regathered his focus on the task at hand, however, which was to stop getting more dirt all over his coat.

"You really ought to watch where you're going if you plan to barrel through tents like a stampeding bighorner." he chastised, taking the hand to hoist himself back on his feet. "You could've hurt someone that was already injured. Now, if you're uh... _leaking_ , you might want to go find a doctor like Julie. I'm just a glorified textbook, you wouldn't want me treating you. You might die of boredom before you bleed out."

That earned him a gruff little chuckle.

"Oh yeah, I already talked to her. She looks a little too pointy to be tending to my wounds, so she pointed me over to you." he dismissed with a cheshire grin. "Y'all got a real shortage of handsome doctors around here, but I reckon I got pretty lucky on the second try. Just not lucky enough to come to a complete stop first I guess."

Almost predictably, Arcade perked up at the compliment. A quick once over showed him a few key pieces of data: tall, dark, and as handsome as his deteriorating condition allowed. He could tell that when the man used to have all his hair it was a thick mop of black, and his eyes were bright and bloodshot. He had shaved the sides of his head where it would've grown patchy, but it didn't look half bad. Clearly he had strength under all the muscle too, so he ultimately decided to forgive the man that _was bleeding everywhere_.

Right, he should probably do something about that now.

"Alright, sit down and tell me what happened. I feel like it's redundant of me to ask at this point, but where are you hurt?" Arcade quizzed as he grabbed his doctor's bag from the corner. "Oh, and please remove your shirt. Normally I wouldn't mind doing that part myself, but I'm worried I'll aggravate your wounds. I need to check my supplies anyway."

"Heh, you'll aggravate something alri- _FFFUCK!_ "

The stranger peeled his bloody shirt off to reveal what had clearly been a losing fight with a deathclaw. The lacerations were deep and inflamed across his midsection, but it appeared to have ceased at the muscle. He worried more about potential infections and the lack of medicine they had to offer for such a nasty injury. Would he really have to tell the guy to go look for help elsewhere? Clearly he would go broke on his first hand of poker, because his patient managed to read his face in a matter of seconds.

"I've got so much medical shit in my bag that I could open up a drug store here, doc." he hissed, flailing a hand in the direction of his belongings. "Feel free to poke around in it while I paint your floor. I can kinda tell y'all are struggling to keep this little fort afloat right now so don't feel bad about it. Not a lot of folks waltz into Freeside in pieces and keep walking, I assume."

In most circumstances he would very much feel bad about having to dig through someone's supplies to help them, but what was said was true. At least nobody in Freeside got sliced in half and expected the Followers to sew them back together. Though, most of the patients they treated were just addicts and recovering addicts. _As if they didn't blend together_ , Arcade snorted to himself.

"I think you should just feel lucky that it didn't disembowel you where you stood. They're called deathclaws for a reason, you know. It's generally to warn people that they're deadly and have claws."

The resounding chuckle he heard in response warmed his chest a little. _Success._

"Now, you're going to feel a sting," he warned with darkening amusement, putting his gloves on with a piercing _snap, snap_. "And by that I mean this is going to hurt. A lot. Do me a favor and please try not to bite your tongue off while I suture these cuts. You can focus on the handsome doctor, if that helps any."

The ghost of a fox grin pulled at each of their lips. Until they were effectively interrupted by the next hour of stifled yelling from a man that begged for his mother.

* * *

"Next time, bring a gun to the deathclaw fight."

The patient winced out a laugh, flashing a toothy grin at the taunt. That was good; if he was healthy enough to laugh, he would probably be fine.

"Why don't I just bring my doctor to the next one?" the stranger offered out of the blue, voice thick with intent. "Name's Six. I, uh... I don't remember my actual name, so just Six'll do. Dunno if you noticed, but I make fantastic decisions and one of them got me shot in the head, so I'm a little mixed up. I could use someone to make sure I don't blow myself up and keep me some company."

The impenetrable wall of Arcade's psyche cracked. Not just under the pressure of such a request, but mostly because he had _just_ been over his internal crisis about stagnation. Whatever cruel master of the universe that mocked Arcade's life on a daily basis had presented him with his self-prophesied ultimatum. A handsome devil needed his wit and expertise, although he hoped none of that involved a fist fight with the Mojave's deadliest inhabitants. Even if it did, a little playful banter and exercise of common sense was all he asked for in return. For the time being, of course.

"Yes, I suppose you could use my help. Just don't do anything too stupid and we shouldn't have any problems. I hope that isn't too much to ask."

Six could've greased a pig with the smirk that curled across his scarred face.

"Your definition of stupid, or mine?" he purred, a careful distance away from his knight in shining armor. "Because if your definition of stupid involves less getting hurt, I'm not sure I can make any promises. I'm not exactly known for my careful planning."

"As long as you aren't pushing some fascist agenda, I'll live with it. After all, _audentes fortuna iuvat_. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Six looked puzzled, the confusion introducing a knot to Arcade's throat as he waited for an ignorant response. Not that the ignorant response had at all been what he expected in the first place, that is. The less educated man tried to hide his hesitance under a warm smile.

"Doesn't _al dente_ mean raw or something? Don't start using fancy words with me, doc, 'cus speaking regular English is hard enough."

The stuffy researcher couldn't remember the last time he laughed and meant it. Besides that very moment, of course, but he had been charmed by the idiocy of the man's recovery. Not that he could be that amused; Italian was derivative of Latin, after all, so the ability to connect them alone impressed him a bit since they were both considered dead languages.

"No, _audentes_. I said 'fortune favors the bold'. It's Latin." he corrected with a hint of pride. " _Al dente_ is actually Italian. We're talking about your character, not your cooking."

"There's nothing _al dente_ about my cooking! If I can't charm you outta here, I'll bring you some brahmin stew that'll really knock your socks off. Can't imagine there's a lot of good eats in Freeside anyway. That fella selling meat by the gate rubs me the wrong way..."

That explained the knowledge. He was less impressed, but the promise of good food kept the charm very alive. His last good meal had been... Well, it had been a little while.

"Well, your first mistake was stopping at a table with dismembered radroaches on it."

Six lit up Freeside with a winner's smile, dimples barely visible on scarred cheeks.

"Can't knock it 'til you try it!" he announced proudly. "That's, uh- That's a joke. I make some pretty mean grilled mantis, though..."

Arcade spent the next few hours before their departure stewing over how much trouble he'd just got himself into. _Well..._ Well, at least from then on trouble would have a pretty face.


	2. Bullet For Your Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Damage to the neurons or tissue of the frontal lobe can lead to personality changes, difficulty concentrating or planning, and impulsivity."
> 
> Arcade had studied brain damage over the last few months spent at the side of 'the Courier'. It was fundamental for him to understand what exactly happened the day Six got shot in the face. His behavior was erratic and inconsistent, he couldn't navigate to save his life, and he had a serious jet problem. The alcoholism he could forgive, as it was likely responsible for the amount of times Six decided to take a swig and talk his way out of any situation, but that was also an issue.
> 
> When the time came, he started the difficult conversations the same way he did back at the Fort: making a sarcastic joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't do performance-enhancing drugs, kids. Rex is just that smart on his own because he's a very good boy.

Six was so high that it was painful to watch.

It was the fifth time since they'd started to travel together that Arcade sat on the floor beside the courier laid prone, sweating puddles into a ruined mattress with his bandanna glued to his forehead. Yet again, another night spent hiding in an abandoned shack from the Legion assassins that tried to get the drop on them. That wasn't what bothered the doctor, though. No, it was the fact that once Arcade or their new robo-dog ~~friend~~ were knocked unconscious... Six literally went _psychotic_.

The first four times he had no idea what happened. He'd been alone at the half-ghoul's side when the Legion first came for blood, and all four times he woke up to Six screaming like a man possessed and caving a corpse's face in with a dirty shovel. In the beginning, he'd assumed it was just the panic of potentially getting a man killed or a vivid flashback. On the third occurrence, however, he began to notice the symptoms of pyscho withdrawal: agitation, jumpiness, and a lack of impulse control. He had suspected a jet addiction because of Six's aversion to constant high stress, but that had already been confirmed when his companion did it very blatantly in front of him.

 _Oh, sorry._ _I've just got a lot on my mind._

That was the answer he got. Still, the most he responded with was a brief lecture on the effects of jet addiction, because everyone had a vice. His just happened to be learning a language that the rest of the Mojave never wanted to hear again. In the end, they both decided to make a lifetime of unintentionally bad decisions that were ultimately harmless, yet could potentially get them killed. It happened to the best of them.

Once Rex came into the picture, though, he was witness to a rude awakening.

He'd never even seen a Fiend slam back so many drugs in a few moments, but there Six was, hopped up on psycho, jet, med-x, buffout, _ant nectar_ \- it was _insane_. How could any man survive such a cardiac onslaught? The answer was 'not easily', as Six rolling over to vomit onto the soot-covered floorboards made that fairly clear. He found himself wishing the side effects of Fixer involved much less puke. Rex whined loudly and nudged the courier with a cold wet nose.

Normally Arcade wasn't that fond of animals, and _especially_ not robots, cyborgs, or etc. Still, even he had enough of a heart to rub the dog's back reassuringly. The loyal pup sighed heavily, plopping down at Arcade's side to stare at the writhing man on the bed.

The long silence was only punctuated by staggered breathing and quiet whining. Arcade spoke up to keep himself sane.

"Sorry, Rex." he said to the dog, quite like the King did, which he noted he could no longer judge for speaking to animals. "You didn't exactly sign up for this. He'll... He'll be fine. Then we can keep heading to Jacobstown. The road into the mountains is fairly quiet, so we shouldn't run into too much trouble once we get there."

Rex didn't move his head, but when Arcade glanced over they made eye contact.

"Don't look at me like that." he huffed. "I don't know why I'm talking to you either. It's better than staring at him and whining, isn't it? You should learn to appreciate the company you still have."

Pointed ears perked up, a beat or two passing before he replied with a sharp _bark_.

" ** _Rex!_** "

Both of them jumped where they sat as Six shot off the bed like a rocket, whipping his head around. Arcade prayed in the back of his mind that the psycho had wore off.

" _Rex_ , Rex... Fuck, come here boy!" Six wailed, draping himself over the dog showering him with well-earned kisses. "Don't you ever scare me like that again! You don't got a _gun_ , you idiot! I could've lost you for good!"

As a good doctor should, Six's waited for the blubbering to stop before he initiated the talk nobody ever wanted to have.

"Well, I'm glad you're concerned about how I feel right now."

For the very first time, Six froze up. Rex licked his cheek gently. As if reassured that he wasn't about to be abandoned for the blackout he'd just experienced, his shoulders relaxed as he turned his head ever so slightly. He stuttered a half-hearted laugh.

"... Sorry. I shouldn't laugh, that's not funny."

Arcade exhaled sharply, pressing his fingers together in his lap. The addict intervention was never a pleasant or easy one. Still, he only observed barbaric behavior in situations of life or death, so he would come at it from a different angle instead of _are you fucking mad_?

"It's kind of funny." he digressed, leaning back against the beaten metal wall. "What you did earlier wasn't. You could've went into cardiac arrest, or gone completely off the deep end and _stayed_ there. I'm going to assume you only did that because you were worried about the dog, but if you do that again you will probably die. You might not care, but it's easier for me to defend myself when you're, you know, _alive_. I didn't keep pestering you about your jet problem because I get it, but this is lethal. Stop it."

Six stared holes into the floor, suddenly wishing he hadn't broken his new shades during his frenzy. Something tore at the back of his mind, but what was it? Something familiar. As if the guilt wasn't new... It was like he'd received that lecture before, but everything was still a haze. He couldn't remember anything before getting shot in the head yet. But, it was there. Burning.

"I just-" he released his grip on Rex, scraping his scalp for answers. "I can't, I'm- I just had to be strong enough. Fast enough. What if I wasn't? What if I lost him? What if I lost _you_?"

He shuffled to face Arcade with panicked bloodshot eyes, as if every scenario was playing fresh through his mind again.

"Every time you... Every time, all I could think was that I had to save you," he explained heatedly. "I rush in and you get hurt, and I have to save you. It's my fault. I don't think things through. I-"

" _You_ ," Arcade interrupted, taking Six's shaking hands into his own gingerly. "Need to slow down. The answer to your dilemma isn't killing yourself with chems, or whatever else you think will help you turn the tides at a moment's notice. Just ease off the proverbial trigger finger, ok? I don't know exactly what you did to piss off the Legion this much, but I don't plan on giving you grief for it unless you start putting someone's life in danger unnecessarily. Like mine."

Rex growled in protest.

"And his, I guess." the Follower mused with an effort not to smile. "I don't know what he's complaining about, though. He's more than capable of defending himself against some wannabes in ancient sports gear."

Arcade sighed with relief when Six's face finally cracked into a grin.

"I don't know what proverbial means." he giggled. "But... Well, you've got real nice hands. Perfect for doctorin', and some other things too."

"So I've been told." the good doctor replied coyly, returning his hands to his person to earn the sweet whine of protest. "Unfortunately, my services only extend to doctoring at the moment regardless of flirtation. You also need to rest until your tremors have stopped, so I must urge you to lay back down."

The courier frowned and opened his mouth to gripe, but a stern gaze had him flop back down on the soggy mattress.

"I'll adjust your treatment plan as your condition improves."

That frown turned upside down immediately.

* * *

"I killed the coyote guy."

Arcade turned to face Six as they walked along the road to Nipton. All he could offer was a confused expression. Six had been clean off of chems (besides jet) for a week, so the randomness of the statement caught him off guard.

"You what?"

Six furrowed his brow, obviously in deep thought about the random sentence he had thrown at his companion with only two legs. Rex woofed gently, an acknowledgement of some sort.

"Vol-piss?" the courier asked aloud, unsure of whom he was referring to. "I don't remember his name. Said he played some death lottery with the folks of Nipton, so I played the lottery with my shotgun and his face. I think the Legion started chasing me after that happened? At least I think so, since they were already up my ass before I got to Freeside."

"Excuse me, _what_?" Arcade spat, incredulous at such a claim. "You killed _Vulpes Inculta_? As in the most notorious spy in Caesar's Legion, Vulpes Inculta?"

"Yeah, that's the one!"

Arcade exercised his exemplary self-control in order to not completely lose his mind. _The_ Vulpes Inculta? A vile, despicable man that poisoned the hearts of so many people and places, and Six had just put him down like a rabid dog. He must've had enough goons to take over the town as well, right? Did Six really pull that off by himself? He would have to interrogate the courier about that adventure he'd missed out on when they found a place to lay their heads for the night.

"I don't know whether to kiss you or slap you right now, because you honestly deserve both." he ranted, ignoring the way the courier perked up. "Do you have any idea what it is that you've done? That was Caesar's right hand, of course he's going to send death squads after you constantly! I'm honestly just- I'm in shock right now."

Six shrugged; the assassins had become a little easier to deal with now that he knew what to expect. Rex had gotten better at ripping off the goofy-ass armor they wore and going straight for their throats. He was a smart dog and he caught on quick, though spoiling him rotten with home-cooked steaks seemed to be a good bargaining chip as well. _Good boy, good eats._

"Sorry, all I heard was ' _wow Six, you're so handsome and brave, please kiss me now_ '." he smirked. "But, hey, I won't cry if you hit me. Might not get the reaction you want, though."

The good doctor sneered at first, but he always had a comeback. Witty bastard, he was.

"I think Rex kisses you enough for the both of us. I'd rather not sample his slobber, thank you very much." he dismissed, earning a pouty frown. "How about you make us some dinner, hm? We've been walking for four hours and I'm sure Rex and I are both equally starving."

Six gawked in offense at the bark of agreement and a suddenly wagging tail.

"Did you just agree to come with me so I could cook for you every night? That really hurts my feelings, doc." he griped. "Can't spare me a kiss but you expect a steak dinner at the drop of a hat! What kinda back-asswards shit is that?"

They walked in silence for a few moments, but it wasn't tense. Six was well aware that Arcade loved playful banter as much as he did. It kept things light, loose, and as far away from the soul-crushing nature of the Mojave as physically possible. Even with an onslaught of playful criticisms and sarcasm... Well, they made a pretty good team. It was nice.

Six's smile drooped. It was almost too nice. Not that he felt he didn't deserve it, but the gnawing feeling of an entire past forgotten clawed at his brain again.

"Hey."

The courier swept his thoughts away to turn towards the doctor, but he found himself stopped by firm palms on his shoulders. A chaste kiss on the lips, too. He blinked a few times, staring into a green sea that swallowed him whole. Suddenly he found himself not minding the thought of drowning at all.

"We should, uh. We should stop and eat." Arcade suggested timidly, completely unlike him. "I know you like to pretend you're invincible, but we all have basic needs. Food is one of them."

As if on cue, Six's stomach growled obscenely.

"Just for the record, I don't actually expect a kiss every time you want some food." he tried not to mumble, willing himself to maintain eye contact. "Not that I mind, of course! Just don't treat it like a form of payment."

"I know."


	3. A River In Egypt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things had changed in the following months. Six caught Arcade's shy glances before he pretended to notice something else, for example. Then it was the way the good doctor's touches lingered slightly when he smoothed over fresh bandages. Arcade had even been noticeably bothered when he flirted with the handsome Follower at HELIOS One. (How could he help himself? The guy reminded him so much of Arcade.) Before their little kiss, things had been more push and pull. Now it was more like a tap on the shoulder and a step back.
> 
> He wasn't sure why it made him sick to his stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you try to run from yourself, you won't get very far.

"Do you think you were in the NCR before?"

Six looked up from the dogtag around his neck he'd gently been fiddling with. He couldn't remember, but that probably wasn't it. Mostly because of how he looked and his drug addiction. Also because every time it shifted against his chest beneath that dirty shirt, all he felt was heartache.

"Nah. Not with a face like this." he sighed. "The name and shit is scratched out, too; just has a spade carved into it. I dunno what it's supposed to mean. Maybe the guy really liked playing caravan?"

It hurt to look at. Arcade leaned over his shoulder to investigate, but Six stiffened a little at the breath creeping across his neck.

"I suppose, but that doesn't really explain why you have it." the doctor commented, surely reading Six's mind as he returned to sitting up on a dirty Wrangler barstool. "Given what I know about you, I'm assuming you either received it from... _someone_ , or you just thought it looked cool and took it."

The courier really didn't care for how Arcade said _someone_. That left questions he wasn't sure he wanted answers to.

"Well, it does look pretty cool." Six expertly deflected. "I guess that makes sense enough. Maybe I carved it in there? A symbol to all who oppose the _caravan master_ , now a recently lost legend! I struck fear and bankruptcy into the hearts and pockets of many with reckless abandon, until my luck finally ran out in Goodsprings."

Arcade's carefully neutral expression cracked into a small amused smile.

"Maybe that's the real reason Benny came after you." he chuckled. "You two played a high-stakes game of caravan and he was just a really sore loser. Another tragic lesson about the consequences of gambling, I'm afraid. He's the head of a casino, so his deck was probably rigged anyway."

_Truth is, game was rigged from the start._

> _Six's palms screamed as dirty nails dug into clenched fists. His eyes had blown wide behind broken shades and he found himself consumed with near-maddening rage. He was so furious it pulled at the seams deep in his chest, burning him alive. All he could see was the face of a devil and the hollow barrel of a 9mm. The woman on the grip laughed in his face. The tag underneath his clothes seared against his scarred flesh. It was raining blood, and everything was red. He could barely hear the broken radio singing distorted trumpets over the rush of the storm that was coming._

"... Uh, Six?"

He blinked and the dusty old bar came back. The fury flooded out of him like a broken spigot, but his hands still shook violently even when gentle digits pressed them against the sticky counter. He turned his head to stare into Arcade's eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he spoke quietly. "I probably shouldn't have joked about that, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Six tried to say something, but his tongue felt too thick. The doctor's brows knitted together with concern and it crushed his soul into little pieces.

"I'm-" he finally stammered out. "I was at the graveyard. I was so fucking _mad_."

Arcade's expression morphed in a blink, suddenly very serious. It was like something had just clicked in his mind. The courier could only wonder what was going on in that razor sharp head. The Follower's slender fingers curled a little tighter around his hands, planting a heavy pit in his stomach.

"I think we've had enough to drink. Let's get back to the Lucky 38 for the night, ok?"

"... Yeah. Ok."

When Arcade stood to leave, he held onto Six to lead them out the door. The touch made his skin itch.

* * *

The dark cloud over the courier's head refused to leave. Six laid in the bathtub alone for hours, trying to make sense of what he'd seen and drowning his sorrows in empty jet canisters. He must have been completely fucked up on chems before he'd been shot and left for dead to see what he had seen that night. He eventually hobbled out of the bathroom completely naked, only noticing when Arcade shuffled out of the guest bedroom and stuttered out an apology. He turned on his heels and retreated with a flushed face and his fists firmly at his sides.

He stumbled back into the bathroom to pull some pants on, pretending not to notice when he could hear his new companion, Boone, snort audibly from the kitchen.

Boone was an alright guy, he'd decided. Another guy avoiding his past by not talking about it, but it seemed everyone was always running from something or another. He wondered what he used to run from before Goodsprings. The somber lounge music crackling over the radio only underlined the numb frown that pulled at his lips.

"Change the radio." Boone barked across the hall. "That shit's depressing."

Six sighed heavily. There was no use dwelling on it when he couldn't remember anything else but how angry he'd been. He clutched the tag dripping from around his neck, silently asking it for answers as he padded across the hallway into the game room to turn the radio off.

"Hey."

He turned to see Arcade, a sincere expression despite the lingering blush that stood out easily on pale skin. If nothing else, he could at least enjoy that. He didn't hide the smirk that twitched at the corner of his mouth.

"I know it isn't my business, but if you ever want to... talk. About what happened, I mean. I'm not a trained counselor or anything, but it might help you remember something."

The suggestion squeezed his chest. He wasn't sure if he wanted to be around Arcade if he started to remember more, because what he'd recalled and the chems he woke up with in his bag didn't paint a good picture. He just took the jet to keep his itch scratched until he found out why he must've had so much in the first place.

"Only if you want to, that is."

"Maybe. Right now I just want to get back on track." Six decided, trying to keep a tired smile for the good doctor's sake. "If you really want to cheer me up, though, I can think of a few things that ought to do the trick."

Arcade swallowed audibly, but kept his composure at the skip of his heart. Six noted his reaction as unexpected. Didn't the doctor normally keep his cool when they played cat and mouse?

"And what would those things be?"

Six took a few steps closer. Arcade squared his shoulders, getting more comfortable in his own skin. The courier's presence was like peeking into a dark cave and hearing footsteps in the shadows: intense and mysterious. The man was a mere inch taller than the Follower, and that was all it took to remove his go-to advantage for outmatching a wolf on the prowl.

"Well, you really took me by surprise when you made a move on me, y'know. I thought maybe you could kiss it better."

Arcade blinked in response, but Six could see the wheels turning. Especially when a relaxed smile slowly made its way across the man's face that stirred something deep inside of him.

" _Descensus in cuniculi cavum_."

A tingle made its way down the courier's spine; _damn_ , he loved it when Arcade sounded smart. Not that he understood a lick of it, but that was just something else he liked about it. He took a few more steps forward, slowly closing the gap between them.

"What does that mean?" he hummed, leaning in to get a better look at those pretty eyes.

"It means you might not understand what it is you're asking for." Arcade muttered, quietly pulling the door shut behind him while he held eye contact. "I don't think your new friend would appreciate my ministrations as much as you."

Six grinned slyly.

"You think so? Maybe he's just got bad taste." he purred, brushing the tip of the doctor's nose with his own. "I could listen to you all night; you've got the voice of an angel."

" _Ad nauseum_ , as they say." Arcade leaned back coyly. "You'll get bored of me droning on eventually."

Six took one final step to speak just against Arcade's lips, leaning one arm against the doorway he faced. The doctor could practically taste the cheap whiskey on the courier's breath.

"I'd dream about it every night, if I had the choice..."

Both of them flinched as the door swung open.

"I said change it, not turn it off-" Boone stopped mid-sentence, glancing up with a raised eyebrow. "Oh. Uh, sorry." he mumbled, closing the door just as quickly as he had opened it, Rex barking loudly from the other side.

Arcade had whipped his head around at the creak of the hinges, flushed another precious shade of red. His shoulders sagged back down from their tension.

"Well, that was embarrassing." he complained.

Six blinked stupidly. Yeah, it may have been embarrassing, but would it really kill the guy to knock?

"Anyway,"

Suddenly he was feeling those soft lips again. His eyes fluttered closed, high as a kite on his little taste of heaven. Just like before, though, he wished they would have stuck around longer. He whined as he tried to chase them, but Arcade stopped his efforts with a splayed palm against his broad chest.

"We can continue this when we have a little more privacy. I'm not a fan of audiences, unfortunately."

Oh, he was a goner. The good doctor had him wrapped around that sleight finger of his. Although, he did entertain the thought of having to be mindful of the other company he kept around. He wouldn't tell that to Arcade, though, even if he knew it would make him blush so hard that steam would come out of his ears.

"Goodnight, Six."

" _Sweet dreams_ , Arcade."

He let the doctor flee to the spare bedroom casually, even though he could see the man's ears turning red as he walked away. After all, he knew the beautiful blond had some fun new things to dream about at night from then on.


	4. Ave Maria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arcade was much more touchy over the next five days. There was the gentle brush of fingers as he passed by in the hallway, bumping into the courier on accident while they walked the Strip, and a lithe hand on the small of Six's back while he hung out at the seedy bar in Brimstone that pulsed within Gomorrah every night. After all, Arcade always insisted on Six having trusted company about when he went out drinking. 
> 
> But something still bothered the courier, brewing in the back of his mind. Sometimes the blood in his head would rush through his ears, reminding him of the sound he heard that night at the graveyard in Goodsprings. It pounded like a drum into the late hours.
> 
> The storm was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the words of a wise fella:  
> "Ain't that a kick in the head?"

Arcade Gannon considered himself an intelligent man. He'd come from a curiosity in many intellectual pursuits, and he had even made a career choice out of a few of them to become an educated doctor. He also thought he was getting close to the wrong side of middle-aged. Yet he still found himself in a situation where, unbelievably, a respectable member of the Followers of the Apocalypse had been asked how much a trip to the courtyard would cost. Six found it incredibly hysterical, of course. The good doctor scowled and removed his possessive touch from Six's spine, focusing on his halfway drained beer instead.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" the bespectacled man huffed. "Out of anybody at this counter, he should've been asking you."

"Nah, I disagree!" Six argued over his whiskey. "That was an NCR grunt, and they usually like the pretty doctor types if they aren't drooling over the other soldiers. I've peeked through enough lockers at Camp McCarran to know by now."

The Follower raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Look, all I'm saying is I understand what he sees. I happen to like it myself." he announced aloud, patting himself on the chest. "So who am I to judge a man for being in a strip club, drunk as hell, telling a handsome guy he'd show him a good time if given the opportunity?"

"That's quite a smooth way of describing soliciting a doctor for prostitution."

"Arcade, you aren't a doctor in here." Six declared, prodding the man in the chest. "You're a man among men, so relax a little bit and enjoy the view. Free drinks are cool, too. You can be a sexy doctor though, I think that's _permissible_."

The sexy doctor in question made an effort not to laugh, snorting instead.

"Is that your best impression of me?" he quizzed, resting his cheek in his palm to lean on the counter. "I bet you don't even remember what that means, do you? Besides, if you're going to imitate me you have to _drain all of the emotion from your voice_ , like that. Everyone in the medical field is horribly depressed and possibly denying it. You would be too, especially after a good decade of pretending you're simply bumping into the guy teaching you about the muscular system by mistake every few days. I always told him it was my glasses."

Arcade careened closer, an impish grin gracing his flushed face. Six drank it in like a thirsty Fiend crawling across one of the Dry Lakes; he loved the talkative side of the most alluring Follower of the Apocalypse.

 _"200 years is a long time between visits to the optometrist, you know._ "

The courier smiled wide, enamored by the doctor's captivating inflections. Half the time he used words Six could hardly understand, but half the time he really couldn't care less. Arcade could've recited a foreign dictionary and arrested his attention regardless. He loved how honest and forthcoming the man was about his worldviews; the fact that the doctor truly didn't give a shit about the opinions of the selfish was admirable. He demanded compassionate and well-considered results. He spoke volumes to Six's uncontrollable urge for thoughtless philanthropy, even when the new world was fueled by selfishness. Arcade expected only the best of forethought out of him, begrudgingly giving leeway to the amount of time it took the courier to consider the best course of action.

It pained him sometimes. When the moment would arise to face Benny, he wasn't sure what to expect anymore. The good doctor might have to anticipate a horrible surprise. He thumbed the carved dogtag underneath his shirt anxiously in thought. Deep down, he wanted Arcade by his side when he remembered everything.

"Let's get out of here." he blurted.

Arcade straightened to attention at the request, glancing briefly down at the courier's hand. Six almost resented how well his associate paid attention at the drop of a hat, but that observation had to go on the back-burner for the time being.

"I've got unfinished business."

* * *

The courier hadn't planned his first steps into The Tops at all. Not that the lack of a plan had ever stopped him before, of course. He practically dragged Arcade out of the sleazy club into the north side of the Strip, only slowing down to let the doctor gawk at where they were headed because of his own second-guessing. Six forced a lump of anxiety down his throat as they stood before the entrance. As he recalled he had mentioned before, planning was indeed not his forte. 

Once he stepped inside, there was no turning back. That fact alone formed an invisible barrier between him and the answers to questions he was afraid to ask. 

"If you aren't prepared, we don't have to do this yet."

The courier glanced back at his companion in a moment of hesitance. Arcade wished he knew what to say in order to reassure him, but nothing bubbled to the surface. The good doctor crossed his arms nervously instead.

"Are you sure this is a good idea? We should probably just go-"

"It's time, Arcade." he decided with clenched fists. "I want some answers. You gonna come with me?"

Time stood still for a moment. For the first time in the months they had known each other, the Follower seemed lost for words. It churned an ugly feeling in Six's stomach. Suddenly the drive to push forward had begun to leak out of him. Where had his bravado gone? When Arcade sighed with exasperation and shuffled on his feet, everything started to move again.

"I suppose you'll need me to drag you back to the Lucky 38 if you get us kicked out." he offered with a weak smile. "Yes, I'm going to come with you."

Six lit up a cigarette - a habit he picked up from Boone that Arcade _detested_ \- and led the both of them inside the casino. They meandered into the building, Arcade keeping silent while Six spoke tersely to the greeter, handing over all of his weapons except for one. Only the good doctor happened to notice the hilt of a knife poking out of the courier's boot, a threatening silhouette through worn fatigues. An uneasy atmosphere haunted the two of them alone, up until they slowly rounded the corner and Arcade ran into Six's back. The man had stopped dead in his tracks, glaring across the room to the far wall.

The man in the suit on the other side was laughing with an associate when he finally noticed the holes being burned into the side of his skull. The cigarette fell from his fingers, face contorted in shock. He looked like he had seen a ghost.

" _What in the goddamn...?_ "

_The storm is coming._

> _Blood screamed in his ears. He wanted to scream, but he let his burning eyes do the screaming instead. The storm was coming, he assured himself, and once it was over he would be free. He would eat the devil's heart for sending him to Hell. He would find his family and string them up like puppets for God to see. God could see what he had done, and he would let his brother come back. They would die the way they lived, just like the devil had said when he had executed the only soul that ever remained by his side, even when he himself deserved the ultimate punishment reserved for petulant sinners. The storm surged forward until it consumed almost all of the sounds around him._

_Six..._

> _' **Everything is coming up spades** ,' Maria laughed._

_... Six?_

> _Everything was Spades. **Spades**._

" _ **SPADES!!**_ "

The entire room froze in place. Arcade had cringed physically at the volume of Six's roar, turning his head almost immediately towards the man. His stomach dropped at the wide-eyed fury that consumed the courier's entire face. Forget about ghosts; Six was one of the wraiths Arcade had read about in an old pre-war mythology textbook once. Even the other Chairmen merely gazed cautiously across the room, unable to react. Then Benny spun on his heels towards the closest door.

Before the Follower had time to react, the wraith took two large sweeps past him and threw himself over the guardrails onto a caravan table. The card dealer jumped back as the patrons shouted in various states of shock, the once pristine stacked deck raining down around them all. The courier snarled at the suits cackling around him, mocking him in the forefront of his mind.

Everything was coming up **_SPADES_**.

Arcade stumbled after Six as he vaulted off the table and made a mad dash to the diner area, barreling through the doors only to stop and scan the room. The doctor pushed his way in abruptly just in time to see the courier sprint into the courtyard.

 _Damn it_ , Arcade thought, _always a second too slow_.

He heaved onward regardless, noticing the only other doors on the far left swing open and closed as he skidded to a stop before an unfortunate pool mishap. Arcade forced himself into a bolting pace yet again, wheezing when he caught the blur of heels rounding another corner left; his arms couldn't take more bruises with another violent entrance through heavy doors. He made a mental note to go on a full-blown tirade as he crashed into the elevator to the 13th floor alongside Six.

The doctor couldn't speak his mind as they listened to the sound of the elevator raising. In foresight, it was mostly because of the lack of oxygen in his lungs, but he panicked while he gasped in the corner of the tiny space regardless. He heaved and choked with an unspoken anxiety that curled sickening tendrils around his empty stomach, churning solely with poorly aged alcohol. Six bolted through the crack of the elevator doors before they had even opened completely. Arcade stumbled out, hanging desperately onto the corner of a wall while he caught his breath and pretended his forearms weren't destroyed by metal bars on every god damn door. He hobbled after the courier anyway, hanging behind another corner after the frothing man had kicked a door in, only for the doctor to silently pull it shut behind them. He could hear the courier stomp a few more doors in, not long before a lengthy pause and a shrieked string of obscenities.

The Followers hadn't prepared Arcade for subduing violent patients by himself. He reflected upon the sounds of fists pounding on metal doors ceasing, evolving into a heated tromp towards the doorway the doctor subconsciously hid behind. He quickly noted that it hadn't been shut completely, sliding to the other side before the footsteps grew thunderous.

"... W-What's wrong?" he mumbled, rushing a step backwards when Six slammed open the door that separated them.

" _ **Fucking**_ **_Spades_** , Arcade!" he screamed, spitting with rage he couldn't redirect. " _ **SPADES**_!! My _Spades_..."

The doctor had never felt so confused in his entire life. It was only after the courier had merely mumbled those words that tears came flooding down the man's pocked cheeks. Arcade felt his heartstrings pull tight in his chest, suddenly understanding the meaning behind the dogtag around Six's neck.

"My good boy..." Six sniveled, planting his face into Arcade's shoulder with a sob that sunk them both to their knees. " _Spades_..."

They sat in the dim glow of Yesman's screen for an hour, the courier howling into the crevice between Arcade's neck and shoulder. The doctor couldn't help but numbly wonder why he hadn't expected the origin of the tags to sting so differently. _Of course_ the tag had belonged to a dog; Six cared so fiercely for Rex that it should've been one of his first assumptions. It was no mystery that the math added up in the end. Arcade simply held the torn man while he rocked back and forth, wailing his sorrows into the void. The good doctor could only tighten his hold while they kneeled before the securitron-guarded key to their future.

New Vegas could wait, for once in Arcade Gannon's stubborn and idealistic life. Just for a little while.


	5. Peace Be With You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon Arcade and Six's arrival back at the Lucky 38, the courier disappeared for approximately 57 hours and 33 minutes. Not that Arcade was counting, of course. Tensions had come to a head between the good doctor and Boone, arguing whether or not they ought to let the courier figure things out on his own; they simply could not agree on a solution. The fresh associate Cass' suggestion of a social peace gathering further provoked the feuding as opposed to quelling it. It had only been her first day, or so she reasoned with Rex on the third night. 
> 
> Six and Cass may have agreed on drinking remedies, but the man's other friends did not. So, without hesitation she did what any fellow whiskey drinker would do. The shot glasses were laid so blatantly on the kitchen counter beneath a hefty bottle of bourbon to inspire her, after all...
> 
> She slid her guitar from behind her closet and beckoned Rex into the elevator. Cass was no fool; alcoholics always hung out in the same place. 
> 
> She stowed away in the lounge across from Six and began to spin him a melancholy tale of heartaches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I guess that deep in my heart,  
> I'll always be a Cassidy Girl."

"Has it ever occurred to you that some people can't barrel through life pretending they no longer feel human emotions?"

Boone bristled at Arcade's accusation, thoroughly sick of the doctor infantilizing his patient. It had... He knew. He knew what it was like to struggle with loss that shook your soul. Craig Boone had surrendered to the wrath of the universe long before Six had been any wiser, so he had no room for pity. The Follower argued heatedly, however, about Boone's lack of tact for the situation.

Followers of the Apocalypse were known magnets for disaster, as such a fate was expected for any beacon of hope in the aftermath of the Great War. Of course, Boone grouched, some pragmatic dreamer from that faction had to infect a rational man with ambitious fantasies. That pragmatic dreamer had been Arcade Gannon: a man after civilization's own heart, itching to make a difference in a world that chewed everyone up and spat them out. It was painful to see the courier buy into the Follower's daydreams, heady debates of tranquil means. It didn't matter, he supposed; Six had sulked back to the Lucky 38 with his tail between his legs and hid like a coward.

The retired soldier fumed silently. He refused to argue his point, but he never felt the need to in the first place. The matter was as simple as Six's negligence to move forward. Did he honestly need another reason to be testy about a waste of time? A doctor ought to have produced a conclusive case instead of one based on feelings, but the Follower valued the cruel disillusion of ' _peace in the valley_ ' instead. It got a rise out of the former sniper, just as Boone's cold worldview crawled across Arcade's skin.

They clashed like the changing of seasons, a heavy summer storm whipping against a bone-chilling autumn wind.

The storm decided to blow around towards the elevator instead; he would just go find Six himself. Arcade took two long steps and placed himself firmly in the way of the doors with crossed arms and squared shoulders; Boone hated how much taller and broader the doctor was. How did doctors even get that big? He'd asked Arcade that question once before; probably from restraining chem addicts and psycho-fueled soldiers, he had reasoned then. He huffed through his nose, sourly remembering what the doctor had replied with a slow blink and a suggestive smirk.

' _Something like that_.'

"Look,"

He returned his attention to the present, looking _plenty_ at the annoying blond roadblock. There would be a permanent cramp in his neck by the end of the night.

"I understand that you have the soldier mentality of rubbing dirt in your wounds or whatever," the doctor snapped, nails buried irritably in the elbows of his long sleeve. "However, it would behoove you to also act like a soldier and respect your _doctor_ , and this _doctor_ is telling you to leave his patient _alone_. I honestly couldn't care less if you don't respect me as a person, but you _are_ going to respect me as a professional, Boone. This is literally my job. _Non ducor, duco_."

Just as Boone was about to give Arcade a piece of his mind (and possibly his fist), the elevator doors slid open with a clunky _ding_.

"... Uh. Is this a bad time?"

The bickering housemates turned to see Cass, red-faced and clutching an empty bottle of whiskey. She drank in the nice view of Arcade's shoulders blades beneath his shirt with a fresh and freckled smile on her face. Instead of providing a sarcastic comment, Arcade immediately looked back to Boone with a pointed scowl. The sniper grimaced accordingly.

"No. Boone was just about to-" Arcade began, confusion scrunching his face as he stopped himself and pivoted fully to interrogate the redhead. "Wait, where have you been? Don't say 'drinking', please; I already gathered that much."

Cass let out a brisk click of the tongue, rolling her eyes while she shouldered past both of them.

"Well, I took it upon myself to give Six some company while you two sort yourselves out." she dismissed with a wave of her hand, only stumbling on the carpeted dip into the kitchen. "Now I get why he hid up in the lounge for so long. Who in their right fucking mind wants to be around you two in the same room?"

Arcade made an offended noise, but Boone had never liked arguing with women. He kept silent and listened while Cass rooted through the second fridge loudly.

"You guys always fight like that, or is this just a special occasion?"

The good doctor reflected upon his anger at the accusation. Yes, it had indeed been a special occasion, but he had never quite gotten along with Boone. Six was a leisurely swim to navigate conversationally, Rex was simply a friendly animal, and Cass... Well, Cass wasn't quite charismatic by his own definition, but she at least spoke with passion and full sentences. She was honest and open about her life and the world around her. In addition, she also wasn't a vaguely attractive man that frustrated him with constant ignorance.

"I'll consider that an 'always'." she decided aloud, retrieving a full bottle of whiskey and shutting the fridge door with her hip. "I'd say get a room, but we all share the same one and I'd rather not be invited to that communion."

Arcade and Boone exchanged expressions of disbelief, although short lived once the Follower stood tall again in front of the elevator doors. Cass leveled him a cautious raise of a brow.

"Unless you'd like me to do it myself, I suggest you move."

"Cass," the doctor soothed, methodically defusing the bombshell before him. "I... I appreciate you being there for our friend, but I need to check on him. Alone. Without more alcohol."

She narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Besides, maybe Boone would appreciate your company more than mine?" he proposed truthfully, only a telling gesture in the former soldier's direction lowering the woman's hackles. "I find I'm not the easiest individual to have casual conversation with, and I must implore that I check on my patient. Would you mind keeping an eye on this gentleman?"

Before Boone could firmly protest, Cass reigned him in with a strong arm around his neck and a cordial grin gracing her cheeks. The sniper's uncomfortable yet conflicted countenance was enough to fuel the bold woman's power play. She'd always been a cougar at heart; something about men full of grit and gruff in their late twenties sung to her so sweetly. Besides, she did always like the soldier boys...

Arcade Gannon was a peculiar man, but she understood why Six was intrigued by him. It was cute, honestly. Hope was still alive by 35, so it seemed.

"Sure thing, doc! He definitely won't get bored with me around." she beamed wryly. "You go ahead and check on Patient Zero. Happy trails!"

Boone had no chance to comment, Arcade thanking Cass with a knowing smile and disappearing into the sliding metal doors.

* * *

Arcade swallowed audibly as the elevator ascended.

The mirrors on the walls confirmed he had no idea what he was going to do next. He gauged himself physically, frowning at the wrinkles merely existing had brought about under garish fluorescent lights. It wasn’t as if he expected to look younger after the incident at the Tops. Six hadn’t said a single word to him after their brief encounter with Benny... Was that his fault? He was speechless after Six had broken down in tears. It bothered him, recalling how the courier had always glanced at him in tense moments for a quick retort. Had he missed the opportunity to ease the pain? Julie always had criticized his bedside manner... 

He glanced at the button for the casino floor anxiously.

The good doctor exhaled with gusto, an effort to steel himself for making a decision with merit for once. He was stubborn to defy very realistic expectations. That was until the doors slid quietly open, of course.

Six was strewn over one of the couches directly in front of the elevator, Rex obediently at his side. It was picturesque, more or less, exactly how much the pair of rascals cared for each other. The force of adoration nearly pulled a noise from his throat.

He immediately froze at the strum of strings.

> “ _Moon river,_
> 
> _wider than a mile_
> 
> _I'm crossing you in style_
> 
> _some day_ ,”

Arcade’s breath caught in his throat. He took two cautious steps to clear the elevator before it closed, stilling his lungs until the courier continued a ballad they had both heard before. 

> “ _Oh, dream maker,_
> 
> _you heart breaker_
> 
> _Wherever you're goin',_
> 
> _I'm goin' your way_ ,”

The sleepy sounds of the guitar struck a chord, so to speak. He vaguely recalled Cass leaning an acoustic against the shelf at the foot of the beds the day she arrived at the Lucky 38. She had seemed wistful. The next few days, he noticed it had disappeared without mention. That had bothered him immensely in the moment, but Boone had only acknowledged his comment with a peculiar glance and dismissive shrug. Typical. Except it wasn’t, because Craig Boone noticed everything from the trim of a hair to an explosion on the horizon.

> “ _Two drifters,_
> 
> _off to see the world_
> 
> _There's such a lot of world_
> 
> _to see_ ”

The Follower recalled the nativity of almost an entire year passed. His conflicts with morality - not just an obsolete compass, but his own modern one - had evolved past his previous expectations. Six had opened his eyes to a more logical route towards self-governed peoples. Despite the horrific challenges such a path entailed, the courier trudged head-on into a better future. Arcade had thought it was unrealistic, at first, due to his own failed ambitions. He knew better than to question such sheer power and determination after the first week of traveling with a force of nature.

Some pure souls operated above the mortal coil, or so he had come to believe. Perhaps his intoxication with the fellow had just been wishful thinking? In men his age, the consideration wasn’t unreasonable.

> “ _We're after the same_
> 
> _rainbow's end_
> 
> _Waitin' 'round the bend_
> 
> _My huckleberry friend_ ,” 

No. He saw many men fold away from the individual that perplexed him so. Blissful unawareness had never been a variable in the equation. Six was a little dim-witted, but he had never been slow to understand delicate situations. Arcade glowed proudly at the courier’s ability to surprise him with competence when he least expected it.

Suddenly, the gravity of the man’s serenade sunk into him. Six was tender-hearted in his pain. Cass had insisted to comfort him, lest he waste away in his sorrows. Their leader’s absence hadn’t been ridiculous or out of the blue; no, it had almost been mathematically expected. He knew as much, but he had still stalled in action. Cass had played the doctor and the soldier like a fiddle, but he would have to thank her later.

> “ _Moon river_
> 
> _and me_.”

The final verse glued him in place. His fingers merely twitched in defiance, though it was beyond him to move them with purpose. His heart sagged glumly in his chest.

Rex howled, jerking Arcade from his trance. The loyal canine rested his snout on the arm of the couch, offering a hefty sigh and precious watery eyes in exchange. Even if the doctor didn’t care for animals, he could understand why Rex had such a sturdy hold on Six’s heart. That dog was a player. He had been adopted by a player, so the revelation didn’t shock him much. The loyalty of the dog threw him for a loop, however; would Rex rat him out for intruding? The doctor silently hoped the fickle mutt would understand.

He waited for the radio to pick up where Six left off before he moved. Rex had already shot him an alert glance, but he simply sighed again and smoldered at his caretaker. Arcade reminded himself to offer the pup a peace offering when the next chance arose. The good doctor toed across the worn carpet with purpose, though he clammed up as Six relocated a partial glass of bourbon. A weathered and calloused hand stroked Rex’s scalp lovingly. If Arcade had been a thoughtless animal, it would’ve made him jealous.

He breathed deep, a solid palm lingering above Six’s shoulder. The exhale was much louder without the courier flinching in response. It was as if the man sat several miles away, as opposed to right in front of him. The thought made Arcade hesitate, but he had to... Well, he had to begin the healing process.

Six turned slowly towards the slim fingers that pulled him back down to Earth.

“Oh,” he mumbled, careening his face back to the enormous window to his right. “Hey Arcade. Figured Rex would let me know when you came up.”

The Follower didn’t bother forcing a smile.

“He did.” Arcade informed, relaxing his grip. “You just weren’t paying attention. He’s a smart dog, you know.”

"Heh... Yeah. Smarter than I am, at least." Six muttered, the doctor noting how absolutely defeated he looked with dark circles beneath sunken eyes. "I should've... I should've told you I was up here, huh? That was pretty stupid of me."

Arcade knitted his brows together, cursing his inability to always know just what to say. Six made it look so easy to assuage people's woes. Whenever someone was ready to give up, the courier was there to pick them up and dust them off with a hardy slap on the back as repayment. It made his frustration worse, truthfully. He wished he knew how to help, but he was no therapist and the ailments of the mind had always thrown him for a loop; he couldn't even make himself useful when relapsing chem addicts had full-blown episodes at the Old Mormon Fort. As he'd suggested to Boone, he was only ever asked to restrain them and administer Fixer.

"Well," the blond sighed dramatically. "If I was associates with two people that started bickering the moment they locked eyes, I would go hide and get drunk all night with Cass too. I won't question your preferred choice of company."

Six smiled tepidly, still facing his own reflection.

"She told me singing always helped her. I'm no good, but I'm picking up on this thing well enough." he explained, lifting the guitar briefly in reference before he limply laid it back in his lap. "I remembered something I heard once, but I don't know where. ' _An idle mind is a devil's workshop_.' You think that's true, doc?"

The doctor rolled the question around in his head for a moment before he decided to answer.

"Perhaps, but I wouldn't use the term 'idle'." Arcade offered, leveling a sobering glance at his own reflection. "I think an idle mind is man's folly. A self-destructive mind would be the true 'devil's workshop', so to speak. There is no greater enemy than yourself, such as there is no greater friend. In the end, you are your own master."

A melancholy silence settled between them. Six simmered lightly in the weight of the Follower's words, exhaling heavily as they settled into him. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the whistle of the wind around the lounge.

"How did you get so smart?" he asked softly.

"I read a lot." Arcade quipped dryly, an attempt at humor; Six's peaceful grin marked it a success. "I also have a good friend that showed me even when you're ready to give up on everything, you don't have to. I think you've met him before, actually."

"Is it Boone?"

They both laughed, the good doctor removing his compassionate hand from the courier's person. Six ushered Rex onto the couch across from him, scooting aside to make room for his human companion. He gave the seat an invitational pat. Arcade's insides knotted at the prospect of close quarters in such an intimate scenario, but he accepted the seat wordlessly. Well, except for the small gasp he failed to contain when Six's head landed snugly in his lap.

"Kinda drunk." he excused himself, shutting his bloodshot eyes again to block out the lights. "Sorry, but not really. You're pretty comfy, doc."

Arcade found himself rather lost for words. The sight of Six, relaxed and peaceful, filled him with an emotion he found difficult to pinpoint. He thought it was profound sadness, but that wasn't it... It was a deep ache in his chest he was reluctant to lose feeling of. He recalled a time when his mother had described a pain that most humans searched for the majority of their lives, even losing sight of themselves if they chased it far enough.

His mind played the memory on repeat. He wished she was still there to squeeze his shoulder and calm his nerves.

"... Where do you think we all go when we die?"

The doctor furrowed his brows at the philosophical inquiry. The concept of an 'after' was never something he had realistically considered, as reality was truly cruel and bleak like that. Still, that probably wasn't what Six needed to hear. A few patients had posed him the same question before, but he never had the heart to answer them before they passed. It kept him up some nights, wondering if he should have made something up on the spot, or at least given them the cold truth he suspected.

"I don't know." Arcade admitted, leaning back slightly in his seat. "Memories. Historical texts and urban legends, if you're someone of notable consequence. Nobody is really gone for good until they're forgotten, I suppose."

That was something the Follower had thought about a lot in the course of his life. Dying as another faceless victim of the Mojave, no one to remember him, and nothing to leave behind. That had all seemed to change when Six quite literally ran into his life. He went from a forgettable face to someone that was greeted everywhere they went. Sometimes the greetings were unpleasant, but he was recognized all the same. It nestled a growing sense of accomplishment into the cockles of his heart.

The courier clutched the dog tag hanging outside of his stained shirt close to his chest. The doctor considered his answer an acceptable one.

"Glad I remembered, then."

Arcade felt warm; he brushed his fingers gently over Six's clenched fist. After a calming breath, he smoothed his palm over the top of the the man's hand completely.

"Do you remember anything about him that made you happy?"

He hadn't expected the impish grin that immediately pulled at scarred cheeks. Arcade made a mental note that the expression suited his personality much better than nice and quiet.

"He used to steal my damn food all the time." Six mused, the muscles pulling his knuckles tight relaxing under soothing touch. "Even though I cooked for him every night, the little bastard. He knew I wouldn't do shit about it if he gave me puppy dog eyes. Kinda like how you pick off my plate constantly and just give me that smug grin, like you know I ain't gonna do a damn thing to stop you."

Arcade huffed in offense at the accusation. It was completely true, of course.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." he replied, leering the exact same grin in question down at the head resting on his thighs. "Are you insinuating that I'm a thief?"

Six's eyes cracked open, satisfaction twisting his features.

"Yeah, that's the one." the courier chirped, spreading his fingers to subtly lace them with Arcade's. "I caught you red-handed stealing my food _and_ my heart. Guess I've been a bad influence on you; what happened to the straight n' narrow Dr. Gannon I met back in Freeside?"

"There was never anything straight about me," Arcade teased, although the tangle of their hands made his stomach cramp. "And stealing hearts isn't a crime. It should be, but no government will be lobbying for that any time soon. You'll have to study sociopolitics if you want to make any sort of difference on that front, and I'm fairly certain the NCR will still laugh in your face either way. Unless you meant literally stealing your heart. I can assure you that is currently very illegal, but if I was doing that you wouldn't be here complaining about it."

"I'd let you do it." Six crooned, squeezing Arcade's fingers gently between his own. "This angle right here would be the last thing I saw, and I wouldn't mind that one little bit."

"That wouldn't be stealing." the doctor corrected. "You would be giving me consent to do it."

"You'd be _stealing my breath away_."

Arcade rolled his eyes theatrically, but Six's return to normal heavy-handed flirting attempts drained the stress from his body. It was nice, honestly, to enjoy ridiculous drunken ramblings. He had always hated being sober around drunks, but... the courier was a special breed of alcoholic. The kind that gave him the impulse to lecture and scold, but quickly sucked the will out of him once the spouting off of sweet nothings in cheesy narratives began. It reminded him of some of the pre-war films Six had found while he pilfered everything of interest that hadn't been currently owned or nailed down.

They both bathed in the fresh moonlight cozily, the two of them shutting their eyes for just a little while. Everything felt right with the world in that short moment.

Six sat up suddenly, startling his doctor awake.

"You left Boone alone with Cass."

Arcade squinted grouchily, rubbing at stinging eyes with his pale wrists. He had quite _enjoyed_ their comfortable moment of peace. Boone could go stick it for all he cared, what with the amount of numb-skulled idiocy he had put up with at that point.

"So?" he grumbled, shutting his eyes to block out the bursts of stars assaulting his vision.

" _He's going to **kill** me_!"

The good doctor snickered as Six climbed over him half-drunkenly, barreling into the elevator with Rex instantly at his heel. It brought him back to the very moment they met. A pure-hearted idiot, knocking him off his feet right in the middle of his tent, whom then proceeded to woo him into tagging along in experiences he had never even considered feasible. Courier Six had forever altered the way he viewed the world. Yet there he was, cussing at the buttons on the elevator for not closing the doors faster until he disappeared from view.

Arcade had a lot of thinking to do about his preferences in men.


End file.
